Post by Dmitry Molchanov on Jan 1, 2017 9:13:46 GMT
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Hey m8s. Happy new year. Since it is the New Year, we should do honorary posts to show it in different countries. However, in China, since they don't use the Gregorian Calendar, it would be done on the 28th. You can still wish a "happy new year" or whatever to the rest of the world, but I just thought you should know.
Hey m8s. Happy new year. Since it is the New Year, we should do honorary posts to show it in different countries. However, in China, since they don't use the Gregorian Calendar, it would be done on the 28th. You can still wish a "happy new year" or whatever to the rest of the world, but I just thought you should know.
Москва, Россия Moscow, Russia
31 декабря 2045 December 31, 2045
11:50 P.M. MSK (UTC +3:00)
2045: a year to remember for sure in the eyes of the Russian people. This year was similar to previous bad years: 2016, 2032, and 2040 among others, but not only had the Russian Federation become stronger as a nation that year, it was proving that it was not willing to be bullied, but was also willing to seek peace as a greater alternative to war. Nevertheless, even as the Russian people outside of the Kremlin partied, sparklers alight and many waiting for the great fireworks displays, the Russian people knew that, as soon as 2046 turned the corner, the world would be thrust into another conflict. It was no longer a question of "if," but "when" the first strike would be taken, either by the Motherland or by another major power. And none were looking at this reality more than President Molchanov.
"Net, ty poslushay menya, Roman! YA khochu, chtoby vy prishli domoy pryamo seychas, nikakikh opravdaniy! *No, you listen to me, Roman! I want you to come home right now, no excuses!*" Dmitry barked on the phone as he sifted through various documents within his office pertaining to Europe and recent belligerence against the Russian Federation and its allies. "Smotri, eto ne mozhet pokazat'sya, chto ya khochu, chtoby vy veselo provesti vremya, no eto Novyy god. Lyudi delayut glupyye veshchi segodnya, i ty shestnadtsat'! *Look, it may not seem that I want you to have fun, but it's the New Year. People do stupid things tonight, and you're sixteen!*" he said after a brief pause, setting down the documents within several manila folders.
"Teper' net nikakikh osnovaniy dlya etogo yazyka! Yesli ya ne poluchayu slovo bezopasnosti, chto vy nakhodites' doma, k tomu vremeni, feyyerverk nachnetsya pozhar, tam sobirayetsya byt' nekotoryye ser'yeznyye posledstviya v magazine dlya vas! *Now there is no reason for this language! If I do not get word of security that you are at home, by the time the fireworks start a fire, there is going to be some serious consequences in store for you!*" Another pause, and Dmitry groaned in frustration with his son's antics. Roman Dmitryevich Molchanov was rebellious, for sure, but it was unlike him to swear at his own father for something as trivial as getting home safely.
"Posmotrite. YA dolzhen poyti Roman. U menya yest' mnogo dokumentov segodnya vecherom, i ya dolzhen ubedit'sya, chto displey v Novyy god idet gladko. YA lyublyu tebya, i ya "budet" ubedites', chto vy vernetes' domoy, prezhde chem my snimayem feyyerverk. Uvidimsya skoro syn. *Look. I have to go Roman. I have a lot of paperwork tonight, and I have to make sure that the display in the New Year is going smoothly. I love you and I "will" make sure you get home before we shoot fireworks. See you soon son.*" Dmitry then hung up and groaned in frustration before looking out of his office. The New Year was almost here, and the fireworks were, to his knowledge, set into place. As Russian citizens counted down, Dmitry turned on the TV to watch the show.
"Tri! Dva! Odin! *Three! Two! One!*" The fireworks began, and as they did, so did the New Year.